a not-so-happy fact.

i have a new book on my hands (surprise!). thanks to a particularly hilarious/all-knowing pair of friends, i was presented with "vaginas: an owners manual" by dr. carol livoti and elizabeth topp. the two authors are a mother-daughter duo and they tackle vaginal needs and issues as minor as lubricants and as major as infertility, viruses/diseases/infections and cancer. in addition to a seemingly well-balanced serving of the things those vaginally-inclined need to know, livoti and topp include pagely snippets of facts (think: the happy and not-so-happy facts from eve ensler's "the vagina monologues") about our peaches, plums and pears. these facts (which i assume to be valid) have kept me shocked, awed and appalled for the past twenty-four hours. i had NIGHTMARES about my vagina last night. i felt like throwing a party in my pants after reading certain insertions. and then there was this:



"The speculum was invented by J. Marion Sims, who also founded the New York Infirmary and is called the "Father of American Gynecology." He wasn't a very nice man, and most historians will back us up on that. He pioneered gynecological surgery by practicing on slaves, without consent and certainly without the benefit of anesthesia...Women have inquired about surgery to move the clitoris closer to the vagina. This is probably a bad idea, in that moving it would cut off its nerve supply. Another flimsy theory on improving women's sexual responsiveness is to "unhood" the clitoris (removing the fold that covers it). This is fraught with risk. The clitoris is so sensitive that it's a short hop from pleasure to pain. These women may have trouble sitting down or wearing tight pants, and forget about horseback riding. This is not an operation that has ever been popular. Conversely, a hundred years ago, removing the clitoris was not uncommon in New York City for women who were "too demanding". Thanks again, J. Marion Sims...His statue is in Central Park, so feel free to go and throw rocks at it" (pp. 34-59).





allllllright. so. the duck lips were invented by some old coot sans vagina. now i know. i also know now that the "father of american gynecology", in order to "father" (and let us not even touch patriarchy right now) the field, made practice out of the already-oppressed only to oppress them further. gynecology, now, (i hope!) is a field necessary and present to help those with vaginas or those wishing to have one. it seems creepy, twisted and squirmy for such a vital part of sexual health to have been born of torture, punishment and "discipline".



i'm sure notes were taken. i'm sure surgeries were modified and altered to produce healthier results for the patients treated...and the fact that sims' speculum hasn't changed much in one hundred years is a screaming indication that gynecology's existence may not be so were it not for j. marion sims...even still, i feel pretty gross right now knowing that my vaginal health stands on a history of pain, injury and injustice. had i known of the copper reproduction of sims in central park i might have prepared for the bike-tour with a pair of steel-toed boots.

the sweetest thing.

my mother turned 50 years old yesterday. the usual markers of another year lived felt uncomfortably different than previous june 22nds. no one in the family dared to ask aloud about the strange brew of cake and quiet, well-wishing cards and concerned phone calls, gifts and more quiet. both my sister and i had to work during the day and when our shifts wrapped up, rather than choosing a treated dinner out or a cooked meal in, mom just asked for an ordered pizza. my sister and i made sure she got what she wanted but i think we both felt somewhat disappointed with the melancholy sitting above our cheesy plates and heads.

after the food was consumed and the dishes were washed mom and i drove to the hospital to visit dad for the usual evening visit (mom tends to visit him once or twice during the day as well). earlier that day, i spent my lunch break at the hospital with dad. we caught up on the weekend's events (i had been in fredericton, he had lots of family visitors) and we had our own small celebration of father's day. dad looked pretty clean and bright - his hair was cut (finally!), he'd been in-and-out of bed a handful of times over the past few hours and he'd been sleeping fairly well over the weekend - but i felt incredibly sad as i said good-bye to him. dad's five-month stay in the icu smashed me in the face as i recognized how many events have been celebrated with tubes and monitors present. first, mom and dad's 29th anniversary. then, valentine's day. family and friends-of-family birthday came and went. both kelly and i spent our reading weeks studying in the dim waiting room. there was dad's 50th birthday, there was easter and there was graduation day. there was mother's day, father's day and then, finally, my mother's birthday. on top of all of these events normally defined as "special", there'd been so many other celebratory days: dad's first surgery, his survival through the various others, dad's efforts in physio, his successful heart transplant. now, we celebrate dad's "first steps" and the respirator being removed from his room. so much has passed and all the while we continue to change and learn ways to celebrate those parts of life previously living in the realm of unfamiliarity. i left the room quickly and grabbed my coat from the waiting room.

when i emerged from the waiting room i tried to flee from the reception desk with a brief "see you later" so that i could run and re-collect in peace. the receptionist, now practically an adopted member to our family, caught my eye before i turned to run and asked, "jenna, are you okay?" naturally i lose my composure, crack in half and nod to say "yes" as i cry into my hands. this woman jumped around her desk to hug me. when i finally managed to find my voice i found myself trying to explain my tears with, "today is mom's birthday". the woman, who has seen countless of the aforementioned new sorts of celebrations of life and health, somehow made sense of my short answer. she held on, nodded and seemed to get what my mouth wasn't saying: this is real and it's been real for a while.

after the snot and tears ceased to fall from my face, the receptionist and i had a quick chat about mom's birthday, about how this was her 50th one for celebrating and about how the plans of a movie night with dad would be the best way to really celebrate until further notice. as we were chatting, a nurse from the ward stopped by to say hello. she picked up on the birthday talk, gave me a wink and ran off.

back to the post-pizza drive to the hospital; mom and i arrived later than usual and caught the same winking nurse on our way into the hospital. she offered mom her celebratory greetings and after a short talk we were back on our way to dad's room. upon arrival, the receptionist barred mom and i off from the unit and said, "you can't go in just yet...he's using the...bathroom." mom, nosy as she is, peeked into the unit enough to see that the curtain of dad's room was not closed, meaning he certainly was not visibly busy. regardless, we weren't permitted to enter until someone gave us the "okay", so we sat in silence, worrying about what might be going on.

after five minutes or so, the receptionist slipped into our room and informed us that dad was now ready for visitors. we were discussing possible issues dad might have been having as we entered the unit. we turned the corner from the nurses' station in order to reach dad's room and stopped and stared for a good five seconds before either of us could make any noise. the door of dad's room had been covered with bright, red signs that screamed, "HAPPY 50th BIRTHDAY!". gloves had been blown up with air and tied at the end to make balloons bearing my mother's name. scantily-clad magazine ladies were taped around mom's red, white and latex birthday homage. after our initial surprise started to fade, mom and i were in tear-stained stitches upon entering dad's room. once inside, a handful of nurses surrounded mom and clapped their way through the "happy birthday" song. again, there were tears, there was laughing and dad was positively beaming.

as soon as the nurses left the room, dad pulled an envelope out from beneath his blankets. on the envelope was mom's name in familiar-but-scribbly penmanship. mom opened the card, we read it together, and it was signed with dad's name, an "i love you" and some xo's to boot. clearly one of the nurses thought to find a card for dad to present to mom. clearly the entire unit must be a little wacky and maybe they've known us for too long...but after mom stopped crying and settled into the chair next to dad, i think some of the looming strangeness of the day took off.

plenty of small symbols (and large acts) of kindness happen all of the time and our familiy is lucky enough to witness many of them. with the combination yesterday of familiar and unfamiliar elements - a familiar act of kindness performed by an unfamiliar group of people -completely flipped my mother's day around for the better. and, judging by dad's grin, i am certain that he was feeling pretty groovy about having signed off a card for his pretty lady. it was the sweetest thing that's ever come from me crying in front of a receptionist. it was one of the sweetest moments i'd ever witnessed. i had to share.

it's rhyme time.

i was helping one of my students think of "short-u" rhyming words (truck, muck; up, pup; suds, buds...) and we got to the word "drum". i said, "(name), what's a good rhyming word for drum? remember, we need to keep the "uh-uh-uh-uhhm" sound" (said student previously tried to rhyme "kangaroo" with "airplane", so i was feeling a little nervous.

the student took a moment to think. the student closed his/her eyes for a second and opened them only to look up at the alphabet on the ceiling. he/she then pointed to the letter "b" and slowly mouthed out "buh-uh-uh-uhhhm. bum."

i let the student spell "bum" next to "drum". i'm not trying to encourage potty-mouth but he/she clearly knew the word prior to working on his/her rhyming sheet. i was also thankful that this particular student was beginning to grasp the idea of matching rhymes together. airplanes and kangaroos might sit together well in a creative, fictitious story, it's incredibly hard to figure out where the two words made a rhyme in the head of my student.

i could have suggested "hum", "mum", "thumb" (and give a warning for silent "b") or a variety of other choices. instead, i felt that if i were to oppress this child's offer of a perfectly correct rhyme (with a politically incorrect word) i might give this student the idea that his/her ideas were not worth noting even if they fit the criteria asked for. "bum" was the word-sacrifice my nagging work-and-school-friendly conscious had to make.

what would you have done?

shiver, shudder and shake.

mmmm hmmmm. feels good.

i'm talking about the sensations new books bring. they don't necessarily have to be brand-spankin'-new books; previously-owned, new-to-me books inspire many of the same feelings i'm reeling from right now...still, there's something particularly special about a never-before-consumed pile of words: spine intact, pages unruffled, cover flaps crisp-edged and sharp, neat font sans smudge...and the SMELL. good, sweet, jeezum crowe, my brain and my fingers are on fire and i cannot wait to dig my comparatively filthy fingers into and throughout the pristine joy that sits beside me now.

thank-you to one fantastic man-friend of mine.

thanks, too, to the late john steinbeck and ayn rand and to the still living and still deliciously yucky chuck palahniuk.

yessss.

taking it from oprah.

oprah winfrey. she's a lot like santa claus in that she's been known to get too heavy-handed on the chocolate-chip cookies and to sport velour sweatsuits. she knows when we are sleeping and when we are awake, for why else would her program be so snugly fit in-between that lazy, hazy post-work (and school) hour of physical and mental exhaustion? steadman and gayle form a collective mrs. claus while her dogs substitute reindeer. she chuckles and "hooooo!"'s and decides who has been naughty and who has been nice. her elves, the assistants/writers/videographers/make-up artists at harpo studios, are often recorded scurrying about, hurriedly making last-minute touches to oprah's eyelashes/shoe-placement/bum-crack situation. her "favorite things" special induces sound barrier-breaking yelps from audience members, making televised viewers both spurt steam with envy and recoil in auricular pain.



more about who is naughty and who is nice: the santa claus shtick is taken three steps further in oprah's "uppermiddleclassfamily-gets-help-with-(place straining issue here)-so-they-can-speak-in-full-sentences-to-each-other-again" shows. dr. phil, having moved on to greener (and sleazier) pastures has left winfrey alone in the dust to be the empathetic-but-tough disciplinarian to struggling americans searching for oprah's level of lifestyle normalcy. those who drink are video-recorded by oprah's camera crew and shocked into sobriety. those who shoplift are video-recorded by oprah's camera crew and disgusted into a life of buddhism. those who are adulterous are divorced and sad. those families who over-consume, baby-sit with electronics and take a paper coffee cup away from each cafe they visit are...subjected to OPRAH'S ONE-WEEK CHALLENGE! hOOOoooOOOoOOOO (that's my best textual oprah impression, sorry)! is YOUR family up to the challenge?



today's episode offered two families up for international scrutiny regarding the problem of wastefulness. granted, these families WERE wasteful, especially involving family meals and general eating habits. tonnes of (perfectly edible) food were thrown away monthly and money wasted. never-worn and never-to-be worn piles of clothes sat stacked in closets. no time to shop for a pair of reading glasses? might as well grab four pairs and decide which ones are best once home. unsupervised television watching and videogaming were once replacements for old-fashioned parenting UNTIL



OPRAH'S ONE-WEEK CHALLENGE! hOOOoooOOOoOOOO!



during this challenge, both families were asked to perform the obvious. electronics were turned off, heat was turned down, collective family meals were to be prepared and consumed smartly. "stupid" books hardly consoled one pining pre-teen longing for her cellphone privileges recently taken away. all members were sneaking in extra television and fast-food consumption. naturally and expectedly, the family at weeks end felt inspired by their new nearly-monk lives. thanks to oprah and televised exposure, two families may be forever shamed into constant reconsideration of needs and wants. millions of families, too, may have viewed this program and felt terribly enough about themselves to make safer consumption decisions in their households. that's awesome.



what is not so awesome is oprah's placement as all-knowing waste-manager of north america. believe me, i'm glad the show was televised and that oprah exists. she's worked hard to get to her current position, endured an excess of struggle in her youth, she's helped and inspired millions of people around the world and, lastly, the volume of entries underneath "goodwill" on her resume boast more time and effort than few other celebrities i can think of. she encourages reading, self-sufficiency and optimism. she's pretty awesome in lots of ways, i hardly dislike her...but is she ever seen wearing the same thing twice as host of a talk-show? the talk-show set itself is in a constant state of renewal: shiny new furniture, screens, audience seating, up-to-date sound and video equipment...you get it.



oprah occasionally splashes interviews with tidbits about her personal life and preferences: "italian cotton sheets, please". "my favorite restaurant is: (name)". "my home is (place 1) is more comfortable than my dwelling in (place 2)". for someone with a hefty income and impressive resume (literary critic, magazine publisher, talk-show host, academy award nominee...), it seems fair for luxuries to exist and thrive in such an environment. she does, after all, donate large sums of green to various charitable organizations, funds and foundations (she's even founded her own). she has a family - mrs. claus, reindeer and elves...but santa claus never had any children.



i do not agree with raising children on poptarts and videogames, especially now that i see the results of such parenting every day that i walk into my place of employment. i also think it's unfair for someone without child bearing-and-rearing experience to look down their nose and wag uninformed fingers as teacher (and healer) of the big mistakes in parenting life. i agree that everyone should try a little harder to consume less on a daily basis but to hear the wastefulness gospel from one who has her own tour bus seems somewhat hypocritical to me.



what's ultimately important about the oprah winfrey show are the viewers who may find potentially life-altering tidbits of advice/suggestion/quotation/examples to live by and not oprah herself. her program has proven itself capable of life-altering abilities (the destruction of james frey's reputation, the infamous tom-cruise-jumps-on-sofa-shtick, my mother cutting out the word "joy" from various magazines and sticking them on the refrigerator), it's true. but hearing good advice from one who may not take it so seriously, or have so much experience in the subject advisable kind of makes me queasy. it's a lot like santa telling the general public that he knows what is best for them. come on, man. you apparently fly around the ENTIRE GLOBE in ONE NIGHT, squeeze your jolly self down-and-up millions of chimneys, making countless children smile come daylight and every year you still manage to forget about the malnourished and homeless. i'm not sure that santa or oprah are the best people for offering universal advice. then again, it would be difficult to track down one person available for the task. i'm not sure if any thousand year-old, time-travelling, globe-trotting philanthropists are still kicking. if you know of one, consider writing a letter to harpo studios.

someone is feeling saos-y

"saos."

it's tagged all over halifax.

i didn't notice the presence of "saos" until a friend told me about a problem he was having...the problem being that wherever he looked while walking the word "saos" haunted him until he reached his destination. after that fateful coffee meet i began to scare myself: "saos" was on my mailbox..."saos" on the bus i was boarding..."saos" all over a grocery store..."saos" on parking meters, on street signs, on coffee-shop doors, on the sides of restaurants. "saos" even toots its own horn downtown on the waterfront.

this friend thought "saos" might be a person who treats his tagging as a job-of-sorts. whether or not "saos"-ing is being treated as a form of employment i still wonder what dire importance might rest within the word. i hope that something moving, inspiring or revolutionary rests between the letters of "saos" and that is part of the reason why the word is everywhere my eyes fall. maybe the word "saos" isn't only scribbled by one person. "saos" could be a sort-of code or secret, abbreviated slogan for an entire collective of passionate people. "sabbatical academics oppress students"? "sick altercations offer sadness"? "sour apples often suck"? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?! is it a name of a person? does "saos" stand in for the four initials of one individual who might have spent YEARS of his or her life painting the city red (and pink, black, yellow and green)? is someone so sickeningly obsessed with pasta sauce that he or she can't control their cravings to yell it at the world (in poorly-spelled spray-paint letters)?

is "saos" splattered all over halifax solely to force neurotic people (not unlike yours truly) to re-consider the scenery, labels, slogans and bits of matter they take in daily?

has anyone else been plagued by "saos" sightings? does anyone out there have a clue what it means?

lucky duck.

i am grateful for many things that happen to be a part of my life (hello opportunity, family, food and shelter) but i am especially thankful for the memories crammed and kept in my brain. i think much of these memories owe up to the level of weird i feel comfortable expressing and my tendency to make friends with equally-bizarre people. some of the most hilarious and touching times knock on my skull at the strangest times. example:

i am running around the sub-division close to my apartment building and there are a lot of houses that look like those on brooke street extension back home (i'm not sure why - could be the toys strewn on the lawns) and i am listening to music. a beatles song surprises me and there is something about the sky getting darker and the combination of music, dark and sweat that reminds me of a dance i went to in the tenth grade where an embarrassing remix of various beatles songs spewed through the speakers and a friend and i were equally embarrassing as we finger-snapped and skipped around the dance floor (amidst a pile of bum-grinding air cadets). as i ran, i burst out laughing...i was literally cackling, i couldn't help myself.

once i had calmed myself back down to a giggle-free state, i will admit that i secretly (well, not-so-secretly anymore) hoped someone happened to see me in my moment of nostalgic joy: perspiring, red, frizzy and blurry, laughing my ass off and completely alone. i hope that in that moment of viewing the maybe-witness embraced their inner weirdo and laughed along with me...or at me, whatever.

it's not that i'm a hopeful exhibitionist or am seeking attention during private moments. i'm just thinking wishfully that more people would joyfully surprise themselves with their inner weirdos and find humour in unexpected locations. why not?

ellen degeneres (i love you)!

heads up: the link below will take a little over 10 minutes to play all the way through. i hope you take some time out of your day to enjoy it...if you've got multiple responsibilities cooing your name, simply turn up the volume, go about your tasks and listen.

http://www.feministing.com/archives/015902.html

merci, feministing.com. bravo, ellen.

missed my calling.

saw alegria from cirque du soleil tonight...

i think i might run off and join the circus. if you don't hear from me within the next few days, keep your eyes open for a bedazzled frizzy-thing following a big group of bendy-folk.

kiss and a cuddle.

one of my former roommates told me about the term "kiss and a cuddle", something she once picked up from a charming, english "bloke" (tee hee) she used to have downtown run-ins with. i never had a chance to meet the man who coined the term but this of him i know: he politely (and frankly) admitted an interest in this former roommate by asking her to take part in a "kiss and a cuddle" after a lengthy post-bar walk-and-talk.

after the bars closed this roommate and the english man strolled around for a while before reaching our old, paint-chipped stoop. when offering a farewell (apparently) felt unwanted, this stoop-standing man pulled up his brave socks and asked for the human contact and closeness he craved. the honest presentation of his desire, while sounding slightly silly, was endearing (and clearly attractive) to my former roommate...she let him inside...where they kissed and they cuddled. a good time was had, boundaries were kept and comfort levels were high.

i have a friend in halifax who is a handful of years older than me. he is often distraught over his lack of human contact due to little self-confidence and lots of fear. this friend is musically talented, a good conversationalist and is kind. he is handsome in a scruffy sort-of slept-in way, which is not unfavorable to many. he knows a lot (LOT) about groovy tunes and worthy films and should, technically, not have much trouble in feeling satisfactory levels of physical closeness with his preferred sex. when honest about his wanting to "kiss and cuddle" he often ends up with more than he'd like to bargain for in the forms of lines crossed and uncomfortable exits.

another friend of mine was temporarily sharing a hotel room with a group of friends while he got settled into a new house. one girl out of the group had been suggesting romantic interest in this particular friend and had the courage to place herself next to him in bed after a night out. they had kissed on the dance floor, there had already been agreeable contact made, but when she asked if he would mind sharing the bed for a "cuddle" he grew fairly annoyed and labeled her as "needy".

what is so off-putting about being honest about one's wishes and setting personal, physical goals to ensure safe conduct? it is perfectly fair to disagree with a person's opinions and wishes and make oneself clear of it (no means no!) and it is fair to ask for compromise or clarity where communicative-muck interferes...but i also feel as if making assumptions (especially those regarding the physical comfort levels of others) is highly offensive, potentially hurtful and ultimately dangerous. example: if you are craving something sweet but compact (such as a piece of chocolate or a cookie) and you are then forced to consume an entire five-pound bag of sugar, are you likely to feel satisfied or sickened?

this is, i think, a rant on behalf of the potential loveliness of the "kiss and a cuddle" and the lack of certainties and good practices contained in the act of jumping to conclusions. oh, sure, if a kiss and/or cuddle is requested and happens to develop (agreeably on all accounts) into contact socially-considered as more intimate (than kissing and cuddling alone), that is dandy! however, if a "kiss and a cuddle" is the clearly-stated, do-not-want-more-than-this request: accept it! enjoy it (you might not have this lovely person with you for very long)! if it's not something you're into, leave (kindly)! and, most importantly, stick to the rules!

i wish i knew more people who've had times similar to the good experience shared by my former roommate. maybe with more frankness in discussing likes/dislikes and minds wide open some better connections and cuddles can be made.

a favorite birthday.

a letter to a dear friend who turns one year older tomorrow:

we became friends in junior high french immersion homeroom (along with the majority of students in 7CW). we'd played in sixth-grade band together but due to our opposing elementary schools (and my dire lack of cool-factor: as if the french horn wasn't bad enough) did not connect until thrust into nerdy-town at s.m.j.h.

over yellow-and-black "biker" shirts, sofa-burns, arguing over who would get to dance with ross on friday nights, super-complex (...not.) choreography for an unmentionable pop song and what we felt were, in the moment, the most mortifying moments of our entire existence, our friendship began.

after the inevitable and brow-raising (seriously. do you REMEMBER how massive our eyebrows were?) class trip to quebec came intense drama from one end of the northside to the other: my then-current boyfriend tried to beat the living snot out of my ex-boyfriend. you were one of the few, trusty hands i could hold on to when rumours unfit for a fourteen year-old were flung around town about me. i distinctly remember you writing in my yearbook, "you are one of the strongest girls i know".

with registration at m.h.s. came hundreds of new faces. choice of classes and different schedules offered a whole new level of interest to bond over and dances slowly seemed to feel more exciting if caffeinated-vodka drinks were involved. your attendance at numerous dance recitals was always looked forward to and your birthday parties even more so. layla's introduction came with your 16th birthday and we would later "learn to drive" together...ish.

we had ups and downs amongst our immediate group of friends and grew close with others apart from our original collective, which was definitely a good thing...especially during the time when your dad was ready to skin us both alive (whoops!). when you had questions and worries over barn-folk, i'd listen over shared brownies. when i was too sick to campaign for student government elections, you took care of it for me (over shared brownies later).

moving into vanier hall together definitely tested our limits with one another. i am certain we learned far too much about one another in too small a space, in too short a length of time. regardless of small-space roommate-stresses (and the learning processes that came with losing our shit on each other), our positive memories, i think, outweigh the negative. pre- and post-class dance parties (seems to be a common theme throughout our friendship), unexpected admittances into various establishments as under-agers, the friendships built with fellow 3rd-floor users-and-abusers, shared worries over your travellin' "faja llama" and late-late-l.a.t.e-night questions and confessions turned our sometimes-rocky first year into something worth laughing at later.

second year we smartened up and requested single rooms. third year we were ever-bright and sought out our first apartments. entrance into our final year as undergrads brought us schedules that occasionally connected (yessss) and stresses unbeknownst before. as academic requirements piled and levels of mental and physical health declined, we grew closer still.

after the most fantastic christmas break to date, we unwillingly trenched our way back to fredericton (in one of the worst snowstorms we'd ever experienced). just as i thought life could not feel more tense, it seemed to unravel in front of me. you were the first person i called on january 21st.

you kept me sane and focused when i was thisclose to shutting my books for the semester. you were a consistent, supportive rock to my unpredictable, squishy noodles. your happened-by-chance excitement in life (b!) offered insight and light into mine. you, who at every end of conversation reminded me how much you loved me and how far hope can fly, never cease to amaze me.

now living on the opposite end of the country from you, i had little clue how to give you an appropriate "happy birthday, you're lovely" when your face is so far away from mine. i hope this is sufficient and i hope you enjoy your day (and night). i wish i could celebrate with you, bebeh. shee-ya later! (i couldn't help myself...)

i adore you and i miss you. happy birthday, vanessa!